On the Bit
by LCMTC
Summary: It is the summer after Pony graduates high school. Darry has saved up enough to send Pony to college. Soda has a new job working with horses at a local barn. Pony is trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life while also dealing with guilt over the fact that he is going to college and Darry is not.
1. Part 1

Just a heads up – I don't know what I am doing. I am here as a college student, writing as a means of procrastination and to kill writer's block. I recently re-read the book the Outsiders, and this was born from it. I'm not sure I need a disclaimer, but everyone seems to do it, so here it is. Obviously I don't own the characters. Read at your own risk. Hope you enjoy/don't feel like you wasted your time.

-x-

"When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home." It had been four years since these words had been penned: the introduction to the semester theme that saved my grade and allowed me to pass my first year of high school. It's funny. At fourteen you don't realize weight of your decisions. You live in the moment and choose roads as you happen upon them. You don't realize that these roads could lead you to places you never believed you'd travel.

And that's where I was at. A combination of hard work and an older brother breathing down my neck led me to my high school graduation. I held a diploma in one hand, a scholarship to the University of Oklahoma in the other. The problem was, I still didn't know what I wanted to do. I liked the idea of a degree in something like English Literature. But Darry had other ideas. "Books, books, books, that's all I hear from you," he'd say. "You can't major in books. You need a degree in business. It's more practical."

Of course, he was right. He always was. A degree in business was respectable. A degree in business could get me any job I wanted. There wasn't much use in arguing. It made sense. Darry used his head. Me? Not so much.

I was sitting at our same table, reading my scholarship letter over and over again. It had been a few months since it had come in the mail, but I was still in a state of disbelief. It was a Saturday morning, so Soda was still dead asleep. He had switched jobs about a year ago, and his new job required him to work long weekday hours. By the time the weekend rolled around, he was exhausted. He never complained, though, so he must've loved it.

Oh, Soda still loved cars and girls, but there had been one thing he'd been missing at his job at the gas station. That thing was horses. He'd always been horse-crazy, and I think there was a part of him that never really got over Mickey Mouse being sold. A new barn opened up in town about two years ago, and luckily enough, the owner stopped by the gas station one day. Soda and him hit it off real well—and, really, how couldn't they? Soda could charm just about anyone with his good looks and zeal for life. The man had offered him a job working in the barn, and Soda had accepted. The job required him to wake up at the crack of dawn every morning, get out of bed, and go feed the horses. He'd then have to do basic barn chores like mucking, cleaning buckets, or fixing fences or whatever else needed fixing until the horses' dinner time rolled around. Then he'd feed them their dinner, make sure they were properly blanketed, and turn them out into the pasture. It was hard work—we could all see that. He always had a set of dark rings underneath his eyes during the week. But his dark eyes would be shining, still completely full of life. Everyone could tell that he loved what he did.

Darry still worked at the same job roofing houses. He was tired—you couldn't tell unless you knew him, but he was. He was twenty-four now, and all of his high school buddies had graduated and moved on with their lives. He never let on that it hurt him, but Soda and I could tell. I know that's why he pushed me so hard to get into college. He wanted me to have the opportunity that he never got. He'd worked hard over the past four years to set aside money specifically to put me through college. I had four more years of education because of him, and I was afraid I'd take it for granted. It didn't seem fair that he did all of the work yet I was still the one going to college. It was a lot of pressure.

Darry had walked into the room at this point and sat down with two mugs of coffee. He took a sip of the black coffee before setting it down on the table and handing the other mug to me. I'd started drinking coffee in my senior year, but I couldn't drink it black. It was too bitter. Mine looked like milk compared to Darry's. I grunted my thanks and took a sip. It was sweet, but not over the top. Darry knew exactly how I liked it. Soda always made it too sweet. He'd never been one for coffee. At twenty-one he was still downing a glass of chocolate milk every morning. I didn't know how he could work such long hours without at least a little caffeine, but he seemed to draw energy from just being around horses again.

Darry grabbed the book and pieces of notebook paper that were on top of the newspaper to move them. He paused to examine them briefly before he set them aside. "He could've been a vet," he muttered softly to himself, looking at the diagrams on the papers. The book was on horse anatomy, and the diagrams were of two horses: one rounded and using itself correctly, and the other hollowed out. A few of the muscles were sketched within the diagrams of the horses and labeled accordingly. Handwritten notes of exercises on how to strengthen these muscles lined the bottom of the pages. Darry was wrong in thinking Soda could have been a vet. Soda didn't have any interest in medical stuff. Mechanics, that's what intrigued him. That's what he loved about cars so much, and I don't think it occurred to him that it could apply to horses until he met Romy.

Romy was short for Rosemary. She was five foot ten inches of hard-headed crazy. Her dusty blonde hair fell to her shoulders, and was rarely brushed. She usually wore it up, only letting it down when she was away from the barn. She'd just moved to Oklahoma with the intent to pursue her master's degree in the fall. Her dad and Soda's boss were close friends, and he'd offered to let her live in the house on his barn property for the summer. She'd taken her horse with her. Romy was anal about everything that had to do with the barn, and she made it known to the workers when she disapproved. She had no tolerance for lazy workers, and could chew someone out without a single cuss word if their job had not been done right. Romy had grown up riding dressage, but was one of the few that decided to pursue three-day eventing, a combination of dressage, show jumping, and cross country events. She was good. She had trained her own horse and moved him up through the levels, and could currently compete at the preliminary level. This meant the max height of the show jumping and cross country jumps was 3'7. It doesn't sound too big until you picture a 3'7 fixed height jump on a cross country course that riders hurl galloping horses over. Eventers had to be crazy to do what they did. Or stupid at least.

That being said, Romy knew all the mechanics of training a horse. She knew which muscles needed to be built and how to build them correctly. This is what interested Soda. She began teaching him what she knew about training horses, and Soda began to apply what he learned to the horses at work. After a while, Soda was trusted to work horses on the ground to keep them in shape. Romy liked Soda alright. He did his job well, so she never had to get onto him about it.

I liked Romy alright, too. She seemed hard at first, but away from the barn, she reminded me a lot of Soda. She was overly-enthusiastic about everything, and had a grin so wild that you couldn't help but smile back. Her family was wealthy enough to where she could have been classified as a Soc if she'd been from here, but it was difficult to picture tomboyish Romy in with the Socs. She probably would've been an outsider, so it was a good thing she wasn't from here. She was often at the house drawing out diagrams for Soda and giving him horse training tips. She usually brought us dinner whenever she'd come over. She was pretty decent at cooking, but she lived by herself and always made too much food. The three of us didn't mind. We weren't ones to turn down free food.

"Have you thought anymore about your major?" Darry's question pulled me away from my thoughts. I wasn't sure how to answer. I was only eighteen, and the idea of picking the field I would be in for the rest of the life was intimidating. I stared at the scholarship letter in my hands for a second more before putting it down on the table.

"Yeah, a little," I answered, my eyes fixed on the table. "I was thinking . . ." I paused for a second. I knew what Darry wanted for me, and I didn't want to let him down. I shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "I was thinking maybe business I guess." Darry lowered the newspaper he was reading to look at me. I kept my eyes down, avoiding his gaze.

"That's great, Pony," he said. He looked back at his newspaper for a second, then set it down on the table. He kept his eyes down, as if he were thinking hard about what to say next. For a second I thought I had disappointed him, even though I knew it was what he had wanted to hear. A degree in business made sense. He wanted me to get a respectable job, so a business degree was practical. Finally, Darry looked up at me. "Pony," he began, and paused for a second before continuing, "I want you to know that, well . . . I'm real proud of you, Pony." He smiled gently, and I smiled back. I couldn't help but think back to all of the times I thought I would never be able to please Darry. He was very critical of me throughout high school: if I brought home B's, he wanted A's; if I brought home A's, he wanted me to make sure that they stayed A's. I thought for a long while that he hated me, that he hated that he had to give up everything for me. It took me a while to understand that Darry did everything he did out of concern for me. He wanted to guarantee that I had the opportunities he never got to have. We didn't always get along, but I knew that he would always be in my corner, looking out for my best interests. He was the most sacrificing man that I knew. Hearing him say that he was proud of me really meant the world.

Our front door flew open before I could reply. Darry and I exchanged a glance. We both knew who it was.

"Don't slam the door!" we both called out simultaneously. The door slammed, and Darry sighed. Two-Bit Matthews came running into our kitchen, dressed in his uniform. He must have stopped by on his way to work. Two-Bit hadn't changed much through the years; he was still making wise-cracking remarks and trying to grow his rusty-colored sideburns in. They had stopped growing after a while, but he was still oddly proud of them. Two-Bit had finally graduated high school (it only took him three more years; he graduated the year before me), and had gotten a job at the local comic book store. He'd never had any interest in college and at 22 was still living at home with his mom. I don't think she minded. Since he'd gotten a job, he'd started helping her out with the bills. He'd probably move out eventually, but for the time being, Two-Bit was perfectly content where he was.

"Look at the little high school grad!" he said excitedly, giving me a slap on the back. "What's next? You gonna be president, Pony?" He was laughing, and I smiled sheepishly at Darry, a little embarrassed. I'm not real used to people bragging on me. Darry cocked an eyebrow.

"College first, Two-Bit, then we'll see from there," he said with a smile. Two-Bit grinned and looked over at my scholarship letter. He grabbed it before I could move to stop him and began walking across the room, reading it allowed in a very fake, sophisticated voice. Darry chuckled a little and took another sip of his coffee. I stood up from the table and looked at Two-Bit.

"Alright, cut it out." Two-Bit ignored me, and pretended to adjust his imaginary glasses as he continued reading the letter. I launched myself at him, and the two of us fell to the floor wrestling. I had him pinned in a couple seconds. "Holler uncle," I told him. Two-Bit kept struggling, but I had him pinned. I'd gotten a lot stronger during high school. I made the varsity track team during my sophomore year, and I'd begun working out a lot more to stay in shape for it.

"Fine, fine, uncle," Two-Bit said and I laid off him. Soda was awake at this point and had stumbled out of the bedroom and into a chair at the table. He looked at Darry sleepily.

"Hit me," he said. Darry cocked a smile as he placed a glass of chocolate milk in front of Soda.

"You'd best perk up, little buddy," he said. "Romy mentioned she'd swing by this morning." That would explain why Darry hadn't made breakfast. Usually the first one up makes breakfast and the other two had to do the dishes. Soda groaned a little.

"But I'm _tired,_ Dare," he grumbled. Darry pushed the papers of horse diagrams towards him.

"Better study up." He winked at Soda who let out another sleepy groan.

" _But I'm tired,_ Dare." He laid his head down on the table dramatically. As if on cue, the front door swung open. Soda's head shot back up in the air. "Not today, woman!" he called out. Romy ducked into the kitchen holding a bag in one hand and a chocolate cake in the other. She set the cake on the counter.

"Calm down and eat this cake," she told Soda with a smirk. "It's the weekend." She greeted Darry as he walked over to cut the cake. "I figured since we're celebrating, cake for breakfast would be okay with everyone."

"Jokes on you," Two-Bit said. "They do that anyway." I shoved him affectionately and he retaliated by punching my arm. Soda was chugging his chocolate milk at this point, and Darry began serving the slices of cake. We all sat down at the table and started to eat. "Tastes a little store bought," Two-Bit teased Romy with a wink. She smiled mockingly back.

"Probably because it is. Do I look like housewife material?"

"No sir!" Romy kicked him from underneath the table. Darry smiled into his coffee. We had a running joke that Romy would end up being an old maid. Frankly, she said she would be perfectly okay ending up an old maid, and often joined in on the jokes. Her horses had always been her priority, and she never seemed to mind sacrificing romantic relationships for her equestrian career. It all seemed odd to us until she explained to us that her dad had always wanted a son, and her being a girl didn't seem to change his plans. He raised her to have the career-driven ambitions of a man.

"Anyway," she said, "I have a present for you, Pony." She reached into her bag and paused. "I feel like I should explain—it's nothing big or special, but I think I'm funny so . . ." She pulled out a stuffed animal horse wearing a graduation cap. "I'm sorry," she added as she handed it to me. Soda, seeming to come back to life after finishing his milk, intercepted.

"I'd give my graduation speech, _but I'm a little horse_!" Two-Bit grabbed it from him.

"Don't _stirrup_ any trouble in college!" My ears were red, but I was laughing. I grabbed it from Two-Bit who was about to fall out of his chair laughing.

After a minute of solid laughter, Romy said, "Alright, _rein_ it in, guys." Soda and Two-Bit stopped laughing immediately and stared at her.

"Did you just. . ." Soda began, but he and Two-Bit erupted back into laughter before he could finish the sentence. I smiled at Romy.

"Thanks," I told her. Her blue eyes were shining.

"I couldn't resist," she explained, "Plus, it kind of looks like Al. I had to." I looked at the little brown horse. It did look a bit like Al.

Al was Romy's meat truck save. She saw him on a trailer bound for slaughter, pointed him out to her dad, and told him 'that's my horse.' He wasn't worth anything to anyone at that point, but Romy's dad at always been a supporter, and he bought the misfit horse for her. After she began working with him, Al built his topline muscles and began to fill out. He was a very capable and enthusiastic learner. It had taken him longer than the average horse to learn the basics and begin showing, but once he had the foundation set, he advanced through the levels quickly. Al didn't have the appearance of a conventional eventer. He was a short 15.1 hand high bay mixed breed with a white stripe down his face. He also had an awkwardly long neck. Al was short for Alpaca.

We'd finished our cake, and Two-Bit had decided that it was time for his morning beer. He sat on the floor of our living room with a crooked smile and an open bottle. Soda, Romy, and Darry were doing the dishes—usually I'd help, but they wouldn't let me today as a graduation treat. I wasn't real sure what to do with myself, so I sat on our couch and watched Two-Bit try to balance his shoe on his beer. I could overhear Darry, Romy, and Soda arguing playfully in the kitchen over which sport was more difficult: football or horse riding. I think Darry had always thought of riding horses as more of a thrill than a sport—I think I did, too, until Romy and Soda began explaining the mechanics of dressage. Soda was really excited about it, and he would explain whatever Romy was teaching him to me. He mainly worked with the horses on the flat, but he was interested in learning the mechanics of dressage riding as well. He wouldn't be caught dead riding dressage—it was like ballet; he considered it too girly, but he was often able to apply the same principles to the western ponies he did ranch work off of. He said having the horses respond to every action with a reaction made them better, all-around horses.

"Well," I heard Romy say, "if you ever have the time to be proven wrong, let me know and I can give you a lesson."

"I'll let you know," Darry responded with a laugh.

"Hey, Dare, you're free next Saturday aren't you?" Soda chimed in. Soda was eager to have his older brother take part in something that meant so much to him. He and Darry had always gotten along, but they didn't really have interests in common like Darry and I did. We'd both played sports in high school and took our academics seriously. Soda had never really understood taking anything seriously, but I think he began to when he started working at the barn. It was something he cared about and was eager to be better at. And I think a part of him really wanted Darry to see that.

Darry was silent for a second, but I think Soda's eager enthusiasm won him over. "You know, I think I am, little buddy."


	2. Part 2

a/n – A lot of horse stuff in this one. There is a point to it, I promise.

-x-

"Remind me again why you're here?" Darry had just parked at the front of the barn and was staring into the backseat at Two-Bit quizzically. Two-Bit laughed.

"Like I was going to miss Superman riding a pony!" Darry rolled his eyes and we all hopped out of the truck. High Standards was the name of the barn. It had acres of pastures on either side of the road leading up to the barn. A gate stretched across the property, surrounding the barn, the large pond, the two houses on either side of the pond, and the two arenas at opposite ends of the property. We slipped through the gate that led to the barn and closed it behind us.

We stood in the middle of a concrete plaza. The barn was to our right—a large wooden barn with tall ceilings and ten stalls on either side of the aisle. To our left was the wash area: three wash bays and a building next to them that was used as the office. Directly in front of us was the large pond on the property, and a fork in the road laid before the pond: the road to the left led up a hill to the jumping arena. The road to the right led down a hill, past a small house, to the dressage arena. Having no idea where to go, we all turned to look at Soda.

"Knowing her, she's probably all tacked up and waiting for us," he said. He ducked into the barn to check and see if Al was there. Not finding him, Soda turned and gestured for us to follow. "Probably already at the dressage arena warming him up for you." Darry gave him a sort of look.

"Dressage?" I saw a hint of a smile on Soda's face. That always meant that Darry was in for it. "I thought Al was a jumper?" Soda smiled a little bit bigger. We had all ridden horses before. Mom and Dad had loved it. Soda had always been more passionate about it than Darry and me, but we all had fun. We'd only ever ridden western horses, mostly on trails. I don't think Darry had ever gotten much of a thrill out of it. He was an action sort of guy; he enjoyed anything that truly challenged him. Leisurely trail rides weren't really his thing. When Soda had convinced Darry to come ride, he was probably hoping to try something with a little thrill, and in his mind that meant jumping.

We could see Romy working Al in the dressage arena as we walked up. I paid close attention to try to see what Soda had been telling me about riding. I could tell that he was rounded and at the trot—his head was down, so I assumed that meant it was good. Romy sat the trot seemingly effortlessly. At one of the letters, Al began to cross his legs over each other at the trot so that he moved diagonally from one side of the arena to the other. I think Soda called that a half-pass. Darry was watching carefully. I think he was also trying to see what Soda saw.

"So . . ." he began. "Does she just trot him in circles in the arena then?" Maybe not. Soda made a face.

"No, Dare, she does not just trot him in circles," he said with a slight laugh. He walked over to stand next to Darry and started pointing out specific parts of the horse. "See how he's moving? They don't do that on their own—you have to train them and build up their topline muscles so that they are strong enough to hold and carry themselves like that."

"Like what?" Darry asked.

"His head is down," I pointed out, eager to add to the conversation. Soda smiled a little at me.

"I mean, you're not wrong," he said. "But you don't want to concentrate on where their head is at. That's how a lot of bad habits are formed. A lot of people will be so focused on their head that they'll yank their horse's head down with the reins and they'll be working completely on the forehand." Darry gave him a look to show him that he wasn't following. Soda, acting as if his arms were his front legs, tilted forward to show that the balance would be completely on the front legs. "Like this!" he said. He stood up straight again, and pointed at Al's back. "See how his back is lifted?" He pointed then to Al's rear. "Watch his hindquarters. You want to ride from back to front. The power comes from the hind end. Watch." Darry and I looked and tried to see what Soda was seeing.

Al seemed to float at the trot. His back was lifted, and each step seemed to pause in the air for a split second. As I watched closer, I could see that the horse was using his hind end to extend his back legs underneath him and push off. The motion was very fluid and pleasing to watch. Soda began to explain again.

"His power is coming from behind, and it's absorbed through his front end. She gets him to do that with her leg. When he is moving his back left leg forward, she'll give a little squeeze with her left leg and vice versa. That gives him a little more impulsion." Still at the trot, Romy rode a 20 meter circle, bending to the left. "Try to watch here." Darry squinted a little, trying to see the leg aides Romy was using. "She's using her inside leg—the left leg in this case—to make Al bend off of it. She's using her right leg to hold him and keep him on the bend." Darry was silent for a moment, trying to take it all in.

"What the hell are the reins for?" Two-Bit interrupted. I looked over at him to see that his brow was furrowed, and his arms crossed. He had a very confused expression on his face.

"They're more to steady him than anything," Soda explained. "So she uses that inside leg to push him into the outside rein. It keeps him on a bend for the whole arena—basically, it acts like the whole arena is one big circle. Even when they are going straight, they have a clear outside and inside rein. The outside rein is constant, steady contact. The inside rein is to supple." Two-Bit was nodding slowly, grunting "mm-hmm" occasionally, clearly not understanding. Darry and I were understanding about every other word. Romy had asked Al for a walk, and after a lap she stopped and waved at us. We all walked into the arena.

"Hey guys," she greeted us, and hopped off her horse. Two-Bit whistled lowly. Romy was dressed in her riding clothes, which meant a nice collared show shirt tucked into a pair of fitted, full-seat tan breeches. The padding of the full-seat was dark brown which matched the color of belt she was wearing. It also highlighted her rear. She either ignored Two-Bit or hadn't heard him. She brought Al over to Darry.

"Okay, just a few things before you get on," she told him. "Firstly, you're going to need to be patient with yourself. I'm going to throw a lot at you today and you are not going to get it right away, and that's okay. Regardless of what anyone has told you, this is hard." Darry smiled and gave Al a pat on the neck. I'm not sure he really believed her. Darry had two big claims to fame, two defining traits that he was most well-known for: his intelligence and his athleticism. He usually picked up sports very quickly. Romy continued, "Next, I'm going to give you a basic run-down of equitation and some general terms." We all listened intently as she (very quickly) ran us through the dos and don'ts of equitation. Equitation is how you sit on the horse, by the way. I figured that out after about a solid minute of her talking.

From what I picked up, you want your stirrups long so there's just a slight bend in your knee. That allows you to use as much of your leg as you can or something like that. You're supposed to control the horse with your leg and seat. Then she went off about all the functions of the outside rein, and honestly I got lost. Then something about using the inside leg to push the horse into the outside rein. I watched Darry as he nodded slowly at her. I think it was making about as much sense to him as it was to me. Which wasn't much, in case you were wondering.

"Finally," she continued. "The arena." She gestured to all the letters written at different parts of the arena. "All King Edward's horses can make bay foals." We all stared blankly at her.

"Pardon?" Darry asked. Romy and Soda exchanged an amused glance.

"That's how you remember the letters," she explained. "A-K-E-H-C-M-B-F. A is on the centerline and it's the closest to you. For tests, you will always enter at A." We all looked to where she was referring. There was an opening in the fence at the front middle of the arena—A—for a horse to enter. "K is the corner to the left of A. E is the middle of the left rail. H is the far corner of the left rail. C is the centerline opposite of A. Then so on and so forth. Oh, and X is the dead center of the arena. The center of the centerline. Make sense?" Before anyone of us could answer, Romy grabbed a mounting block and laid it on the left side of Al. She gestured for Darry to walk over.

"I don't need that," he laughed. "I'm tall. I can just hop up." Romy pointed at the mounting block.

"I don't need you smashing onto my horse. You'll use a mounting block. It's better for his back," she explained. Darry nodded and mounted her horse, using the block. I'd never thought of it before, but I guess it made sense. I thought back to when our family would go on trail rides when we were younger and how some of the horses seemed so ornery about people getting on their backs. I wondered if maybe they were sore from all the people who had slammed down on their backs all day.

Romy showed Darry how she wanted him to hold his reins, adjusted his stirrups, and then told him again about equitation, this time by grabbing his leg and showing him where it needed to be on the horse. She then took the mounting block out of the arena and then told us all to stand at X. X wasn't labeled, but luckily that was the easiest of all of them. It was just the center of the arena. She came back and stood next to us and then told Darry to ask for a walk by squeezing a little with both legs. Al immediately responded, but his walk looked different than before. He carried his head higher and was looking around at all of his surroundings. His steps were shorter, but quicker, so he appeared to be moving a lot faster than he had been before. Darry looked a little flustered at it, but he responded by pulling back on the reins. Al responded by throwing his head up a little and shortening his steps. Romy walked out a few steps towards him.

"Alright," she said, "so what you're doing is very common: the horse is going too fast and your impulse is to pull back on the reins." Darry looked over at her, still leaning back slightly so that he could pull back on the reins and keep Al from walking too quickly or breaking into the trot. "I want you to break that mindset. What happened when you pulled back on the reins?"

"He shortened his steps," Darry answered.

"Yeah, but what else?"

"He threw up his head."

"Did he get slower?"

"Not much." Romy nodded.

"He's throwing up his head to avoid the bit. When you yank on his mouth, it creates a lot of pressure, and he teaches him to avoid the bit. We want to be able to slow his movements without yanking on him because we want the horse to be on the bit all the time." She paused for a second to study Darry's position. "So, what we're going to do, is you're going to shorten your reins. If you have to lean back to establish contact with his mouth, your reins are too long. You don't want to be pulling on his mouth, but you want him to be able to feel you. You're moving counterclockwise, so your outside rein is your right rein." Darry looked down at his hands. "Your right hand should have consistent contact with Al's mouth. Once again, not yanking on him, but you want him to feel you there." Darry made the corrections, shortening his reins so that there was a bend in his elbows and his hands were about a half foot above Al's withers, but Al was still moving hollowed out with his head up in the air. He looked back at Romy.

"You need to have elastic elbows," Romy continued. "So, when he walks, his head moves. You want to be able to move your arms with his motion in order to maintain the same amount of contact." Darry looked down and concentrated on his hands, moving them forward drastically with each step. Romy giggled a little.

"Not _that_ much," she laughed. Darry stopped his arm thrusting. "Feel how he moves and move with him." His hands began to steadily move forward a few inches with every step, following Al's head to maintain the contact. "Good!" Al was still hollowed out, but he wasn't resisting the bit as much. "Now we have the important part: your legs.

"You're going to use your legs and seat to push him into the bit and to slow his movements. I want you to look down at his shoulders without turning into the hunchback of Notre Dame. When his right shoulder moves forward, your right hip should move forward and you should give a little squeeze with that leg. Same thing goes with his left shoulder. It'll be a bit hard right now since he's tracking pretty quickly." Darry gave her a funny look. "It's going to feel a little funny," she added. Darry gave her another funny look. He then tried to move his hips with Al's motion, then stopped, blushed a little, and started laughing.

"C'mon, Darry!" Romy called out, laughing a little. She moved her hips dramatically as she walked towards him. "Get sassy with it!" Two-Bit whistled loud enough for her to hear this time. She threw her head back and laughed. "No, but in all seriousness, this is going to help you. He'll feel you moving with him, and then you can slow your movements down, and he will slow down to match you. I promise it's relevant." Darry half-smiled sheepishly, but did what she told him to do, ignoring Soda and Two-Bit's laughter and "lady hips" jokes. "Good, now try to slow the movements with your hips—see? Did you feel that? He's responding." Al was beginning to slow his steps down instead of just shortening them.

"Now I want you to push him into the bit using your legs. Imagine your hands always in front of the saddle, pushing him into the bit, not restraining him. Really use your leg muscles—we all know you've got them—to push him into the bit. You'll feel him lift his back and reach for contact with you." Darry was concentrating hard, trying to figure out how to do what Romy was instructing. Al was still waving his head around in the air with his back hollowed out. He would occasionally begin to come into contact, but then immediately come out of it. Seeing that Darry was becoming increasingly frustrated, Romy began talking again.

"He's a difficult horse to learn on," she told him. "He doesn't give you anything. He makes you work for it—hard." She paused to let out a chuckle. "He's also very responsive, which is ultimately a good thing because eventually you'll be able to move each different leg with a different movement of your body. But, it's hard when you're learning because he doesn't just respond to the correct aids; he responds to the wrong ones as well. You're doing great, but you need to be patient with yourself. He can feel your frustration, and he's feeding off of it." Darry was concentrating harder and seemed to get increasingly annoyed. He shortened his reins a little more and seemed to pull on the reins a little. Al lowered his head, but he didn't seem to be moving with Darry. Romy sighed a little.

"Breathe, Dare," she said. "Forget everything you're supposed to be doing right now and just take a couple really deep breaths." He began to relax a bit. "Maybe this will help you a little—I want to tell you about something called a free walk. It's a movement used in a dressage test where you lengthen your reins and your horse will stretch down to follow the bit. It's a relaxed gait, and the judge looks to see if your horse is stretching, lengthening his strides, and being completely relaxed." Darry was nodding slowly. "But, you can only do it if you have a good connection. I want you to lengthen your reins right now, add leg, and push him into the bit to ask for his free walk."

Darry lengthened the reins and added more leg to Al's sides. Instead of reaching down to follow the bit, Al sped up his walk and stuck his head back into the air. The reins remained drooping instead of being a straight line from his mouth to Darry's hand. Darry gave Romy an exasperated look. She didn't appear to be at all surprised by Al's reaction.

"Can you tell me what happened?" she asked.

"He didn't listen." Romy shook her head.

"No, he listened. But you didn't have a connection. This is what happens when your force your horse's head down instead of pushing him into contact. If your head is being held down and the pressure is suddenly released, where is your head going to go? Down? No." Darry was processing what Romy was saying, nodding slowly. "His head is going to go up, right? He's going to be relieved when the pressure is gone and think 'oh thank _God_ I can do what I want now'. But a horse on the bit with an established connection is going to reach down to keep the contact with you. This is why it's so important to do this right. It isn't about how he looks—it's about how effectively he can do these movements. And, yes, he can best do these movements when his head isn't flying up in the air, but that's because his back is lifted and he is pushing off of his hind end, not because you drag his face down." Darry nodded and released his death grip on Al's face. He fell back into establishing his elastic contact, and then pressed his legs into his sides. Al responded by lifting his back reaching more underneath him with his hind legs. Darry smiled and looked over at Romy, who was already smiling back at him.

"You feel that?" He nodded. "Good man. Try lengthening your reins again, take a deep breath to relax yourself, and add more leg as you do." Darry did, and Al stretched his head downwards to follow the bit. Darry beamed. "There you go," Romy said approvingly. "He's your teammate. You can't force him to do anything. You have be where you're supposed to be to set him up the best you can, and it's his job to take it from there."

"Can we go faster?" Romy smiled at him.

"Maybe next time," she laughed. "I didn't bring my lunge line out, and I'm not sure you know how to post yet."

"Post?"

"Okay so you definitely don't know how to post yet. Look down at his shoulders. _Do not_ slouch!" Darry straightened his back, but glanced down at Al's shoulders. "When his outside shoulder moves forward, you are going to get up off of his back. Don't just stand up in your stirrups; you want to keep the contact with your legs. You're going to grip him with your lower legs and lift yourself up off his back. Then sit down when his inside shoulder moves forward. Try it at the walk." Darry did. His lower leg wobbled back and forth and he tipped forward a little as he looked down to make sure that he was on the right diagonal. He kept it up for about a minute and then Romy told him he could sit back down. Darry then walked Al back into the middle of the circle by us.

"I think we're good for today," Romy said.

"You sure? We can go longer," Darry told her. Romy placed her hands on her hips and smirked.

"Darry, what day is it?" she asked him. We all gave her a funny look.

"Saturday."

"What day is it?" His expression became a little more confused.

"It's Saturday."

"Darry, what day is it?"

"May 25th?"

"What day is it?"

"Saturday the 25th of May."

"What day is it?"

"Is it Friday? Or Sunday? Am I crazy?" He looked at Soda for help who just kept smiling at him. Soda then looked at Romy and she winked.

"See, I asked you a question and you answered it correctly. And then I kept asking you, and the more I asked you, the more you changed your answers slightly. Then, finally, you completely changed your answer, even though you were right before. It's the same thing with horses," Romy explained. "If you keep asking them the same question after they've already done what you've asked, eventually they're going to change their response. Once you've accomplished what you've set out to do, I find it's best to stop for the day, and then continue the next day. Al did what you wanted him to do, and now he gets rewarded with a break. It's also an incentive to do what you ask correctly the first time." She petted Al's neck and told him what a good boy he was as Darry dismounted.

"Makes sense," he said, giving Al a few pats on the shoulder. "Thanks for the lesson, big guy." I smiled a little at that. It was weird to see Darry talking to animals. He had such a hard, logical exterior. It was almost sweet to see him talking to an animal that clearly could not understand him. It reminded me of when we were little and we had our family dog. Darry loved that dog more than I've seen him love anything—besides Soda, Mom and Dad, and me. I think the last time I caught Darry crying was when we had to put him down. He didn't know I could see him or else he would have hid it better, but I remember seeing tears running down his face.

We all followed Romy back to the barn and watched as she un-tacked and washed Al off, explaining to us what she was doing as she did it. She sure could talk a lot. Darry and I paid close attention to her ramblings while Soda and Two-Bit had a sword fight with two hoof picks. After she had finished washing and scraping the sweat off of Al, she led him into the barn and put him up in his stall. She then reached down and opened the brown tack trunk that was next to Al's stall door, and grabbed a jar of peanut butter out of it. Soda and Two-Bit stopped momentarily to look at her.

"Uh . . . peanut butter, Romy?" She just smiled as she scooped some peanut butter onto her fingers and offered it to her horse. Al licked it up happily.

"It's his favorite," she said. "Plus it makes him drink more water so I'm cool with it." Two-Bit shrugged and launched himself at Soda with his hoof pick. Soda dodged him at the last second and jabbed him in the side with his pick. Darry silently took the jar of peanut butter and scooped some onto his fingers. He looked at Romy.

"May I?" he asked. She gestured for him to continue, and he reached out to allow Al to lick the peanut butter off of his fingers. "There you go, little man." Al finished licking off the peanut butter and moved on to nibbling on the sleeve of Darry's shirt.

"This is going to sound weird," Romy said slowly, "but blow some air into his nose. When horses introduce themselves to each other, they'll blow air into each other's noses so that they get each other's scent. It's kind of like a handshake." Darry tilted his head so he could blow air into Al's nose. Al stiffened slightly and looked quizzically at Darry. His nostrils flared for a moment as he breathed in his scent. Then, he blew air back out of his nose at Darry and flicked his ears forward. "Scratch his neck again," Romy suggested. "That's how they'll groom each other." Darry scratched Al's neck again, and Al responded by swinging his head over Darry and nibbling his shoulder. Darry laughed.

"What do you think?" Romy asked after a moment. Darry was still grinning.

"I think I like him." Soda had stopped his fight again and came over to stand next to Darry.

"What about riding?" he asked hesitantly.

"Harder than I expected," he said, draping an arm around Soda's shoulders and messing up his hair. "Not just walking in circles." Soda beamed proudly. I think that he was excited to have something else to talk about with Darry that he would be able to understand, besides paying bills and, well, me. I shoved my hands into my pockets, and tried to push the thought out of my head. I hated how much they both had to sacrifice for me. Darry and Soda had always been close, but after Mom and Dad died, most of their conversations had to revolve around my well-being. It put a toll on their relationship; nothing too detrimental, but it wasn't the same. I could tell Soda was relieved and excited to be able to share this part of his life with his big brother.


End file.
